This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright 2013 by Cherie Reich.
Kindle Edition. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Surrounded by Books Publishing
Cover art by Alexander Platonov and purchased from Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Cherie Reich Copyright 2013
Interior bird symbols created by Skalapendra and purchased from Dreamstime.com
The Foxwick Chronicles
A to Z Flashes of Foxwick
Women of Foxwick
Men of Foxwick
Nightmare
Once Upon a December Nightmare
Nightmare Ever After
The Nightmare Collection
Gravity
Defying Gravity
Fighting Gravity
Pull of Gravity
Gravity: The Complete Trilogy
Magna’s Plea
Sneak Peek of Reborn
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Amora
12-13 Days of Luquiry
Year 1717 AUC
Tendrils of smoke swirled heavenward. The smoldering stench reached Princess Magna at the top of the palace’s northern tower. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor, yet it still smelled better than the filth plaguing the besieged seven-hilled city.
She’d vowed to protect Amora. Her heart shattered a little more each day at the devastation afflicting her kingdom.
The once grassy and flower-filled plain sprouted dust plumes from the trampling feet. As the sun neared the western horizon, a bloody hue washed over the battlefield. Tiny, metallic dins and men’s shouts rang out. Magical bursts flashed in the sky like Thean’s lightning, beautiful and deadly. A wooden catapult hurled a human-sized stone slab into the city’s wall. Magna jerked away from the opened window she stood before, as if the object had struck her instead. Rock crumbled from the impact, but the barrier held.
When the reddish orb sank lower, the fighting ceased. War’s chaos parted into two orderly sides, and soldiers crossed the field to gather their dead.
She brushed a shaky hand over her cheeks. Tears dampened her face, and she struggled to turn away from the battle before her. Almost two months had passed since the Apenthans had begun their attack Amora. How much longer could the Amorans—she—stay safe behind their impenetrable wall?
“There you are, Princess. The queen ’as been searchin’ for you.” Fava, her personal servant, curtsied and motioned toward the battlefield. “Queen Vyvian doesn’t wish for you to watch.”
“I’m well aware of Mother’s wishes.” As if Magna needed to be reminded. Every day she wanted to help with the battle, but her mother refused and kept her imprisoned within the city. She lifted the hood of her cloak to hide another wayward tear. Her long strides took her away from the window—the horror. “Why is she searching for me?”
Fava scurried after her mistress. “The usual, Princess. She wishes for the queen’s ’eir to be by ’er side when the king-consort and princes arrive from the battlefield.”
Magna trailed her fingertips along the railing as she hurried down the winding stone staircase. Her lips parted, but she held her retort. She trusted Fava, but Magna couldn’t allow word of her dissent to run rampant in the kingdom, especially when they were at war with the Kingdom of Apentha.
After they slipped through the palace’s hidden passageways, Magna paused, unfastened her cloak, and handed it to Fava. “Wait here for me, Fava.”
“As you wish.” Fava draped the cloak over her arm.
Magna smoothed down her dress and ran her fingers through her hair. Kisa forbid if she look a mess for the queen! As satisfied with her appearance as she could be without a looking glass, she entered the throne room.
Her mother perched upon a wooden, unadorned throne set on a raised dais. Two guards remained by her side while several more flanked the double doors. They awaited the arrival of the soldiers from Bella’s Field.
Magna suffered a glance toward the Wall of Queens. One day, her picture would flank the great monarchs, including the city’s namesake, the Phoenix-Queen Amora. Could she ever live up to the standards set before her? When she reached the dais, she bowed her head in respect toward her mother and took her place on her right side. “Good evening, Mother.”
“You’re late. It’s not befitting of the queen’s heir to squander her time watching war.”
“I’d rather be participating.” A flush burned Magna’s cheeks. “I don’t mean to be difficult. Queens used to fight alongside our people in battle. We Royals practiced our magic. We’ve fallen far from the old ways,” she whispered.
“Our kingdom needs the queen and her heir to survive. If we lose the war, disaster would befall us.” Her mother’s jaw clenched. Were there a few more white hairs streaking the black? Mother’s cold, bony hand grasped Magna’s chin. “Don’t forget who you are. You will remain in the palace because I command it.”
Magna didn’t move, although the blood rushed through her ears. She pressed her lips into a thin line. A thousand objections filled her head, and she would burst from them. She’d been practicing magic and needed to fight alongside her brothers and father. Yet she held her tongue. Now was not the time to rehash this same argument with her mother or get herself into further trouble for dabbling in sorcery.
A trumpet blast echoed throughout the throne room. “King-Consort Kheron, Prince Thoran, and Prince Moran.”
Magna sat erect as her father and two brothers entered. Her heart threatened to stop beating while she searched for signs of blood splatter upon their clothing, but they must’ve changed before arriving. Her father’s sword with the phoenix emblem upon the golden hilt hung by his side and made Magna smile. Like a phoenix, Amora would rise above this destruction stronger than ever. Moran, her younger brother, grinned, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement. Her gaze fell upon her older brother, Thoran. Her breath caught in her throat.
“What happened to your arm, Thoran?” She blurted the question without a thought to protocol.
Thoran clutched his bandaged arm to his chest. “It’s just a scratch. Nothing to worry over.”
“You should have sought out a healer, my son, before returning to the palace.” Mother motioned for her sons and consort to be seated.
“We were heading to the Place of Lordéhi, Mother, but something came up.” Thoran glanced over to Father and Moran.
Magna shifted. What was more important than Thoran’s injury?
“Has Bella favored us today?” Mother asked Father.
“My queen, the Apenthans are brutal, but the gods, including the War Goddess, will protect us.” A weary smile plastered upon Father’s lips, and he brushed his callused hand against Mother’s cheek. “And I think Bella is about ready to turn the tide in our favor.”
Moran twitched in his seat like he had fleas. Considering the filth the siege had caused in their fair city, it was highly likely.
“Moran, what is your excitement?” Vyvian clasped Kheron’s hand and entwined her fingers with his.
“We’ve captured someone.” The thirteen-year-old flashed his most endearin
g smile.
“And who might that be?”
“He is the heir to the Apenthan throne.” Kheron motioned for the guards to enter.
Two guards dragged their prisoner, a young man no more than eighteen or nineteen, between them. Chains jingled at his feet and hands. An inch-long gash sliced his forehead, and blood oozed from the wound and trickled down. Sweat plastered his wavy, dark hair. When he lifted his head, a bruise darkened the left side of his face. His amethyst eyes held a mixture of defiance and fear.
The queen peered at the prisoner, as if he were a fly to squash. “Your name and station?”
“Prince Cyrun, son of King Vespian of Apentha.”
“Where was he found?” Mother asked.
“In the Lordéhi River. Moran spied him first, and we fished him out,” Father said.
“Were you alone?”
The question hovered in the air. Magna nearly choked on her breath as she awaited his answer. No one had breached the walls, but the city was vulnerable on their riverside border. Guards patrolled the banks, but they weren’t as dependable as the city’s walls.
“I’m the only o-one.” Cyrun’s lip trembled.
“We searched and saw no others either.” Father backed Cyrun’s words.
Magna relaxed in her chair. If Cyrun was the only one, then the Amorans might still be safe.
“Summon a mephina.” Vyvian watched the prisoner with a heavy gaze.
A guard bowed and sprinted to find one of the Royal messengers.
“What to do with you? You’re quite the bargaining chip, don’t you agree?” Mother tapped her finger to her lips.
The young man didn’t answer, although his eyes smoldered in silent rage.
The humanlike mephina glided into the room with the grace of a lithe dancer. The joining of Mephets, a messenger god, and Inashara, Goddess of Love, created the sacred mephinas. Their golden flesh sparkled in the magical candlelight. The woman-like body curtsied. Their dark hair draped forward from the action. Their two heads rested side by side and were attached to the body from their individual necks.
“You requested us.” Determination set the masculine right head’s bearded jaw, and his lips pursed in a thin line.
“We are at your service, my queen.” The feminine left head flashed an eager grin, her eyes as bright as liquid gold.
“Yes, I need you to take a message to the Apenthans. Tell them we have captured their prince. If they do not surrender by dawn, then we will execute him. His head will grace our walls.” The queen waved her hand. “You may depart to your task.”
“Your majesty,” the two heads said in agreement. The mephina spun around and left the throne room.
“Send him to the dungeons and keep him chained. No one is allowed to visit him.” Queen Vyvian dismissed the guards.
They snatched the prisoner.
Magna watched in silence as the guards dragged the young man away. Her gaze flicked over to the picture of the Phoenix-Queen Amora. Purple eyes stared back at her. The same colored eyes as Prince Cyrun’s. Dread washed over her like Thean’s torrential downpours. She would bet her favorite winged horse that Prince Cyrun was more of a direct descendant of Phoenix-Queen Amora than most Royals.
“Come to the banquet room. A feast awaits us. Tomorrow all this nasty business will be behind us.” Smiling at her children and consort, Queen Vyvian stood with a water nymph’s grace and motioned for them to exit the throne room. When she noticed Magna hadn’t moved from her chair, she paused. “What’s the matter, my dear?”
Magna looked up. Her brothers and Father waited at the doorway, yet she focused upon her mother. “Must we execute him?”
Vyvian waved for the others to leave them. Her cold fingers brushed against Magna’s cheek. “Yes, we must. If a promise of his death will end this attack upon our kingdom, then it is imperative. Come, child, let’s eat.”
Magna stood, but any appetite she might have had vanished. “I have a headache. I wish to lie down in my rooms.”
“I remember having headaches when I turned eighteen. The influx of our magic is strongest when we come into it. Go rest.”
“Thank you.” Magna hesitated while her mother and remaining guards left the throne room.
As soon as they had gone, Magna scurried to the hidden passage where Fava awaited her. “Fava, return to my rooms. If anyone asks, I’m resting and not to be disturbed.” She slung the cloak around her shoulders and fastened the golden phoenix broach. Magna shooed her servant away. “Go!”
She didn’t wait for Fava’s response. Her cloak flapped around her legs as she weaved through the labyrinth of hidden passageways down to the dungeons. Blue light bathed the path here and there from the faint magical lamps. The magic’s odor reminded her of the air before a thunderstorm.
A set of discolored stones—more white than gray—let her know she’d arrived at the hidden entrance to the dungeons. She pressed her ear against the cool rocks. No sounds penetrated the door. She slid a stone panel to the right. Voices drifted toward her. She froze and held her breath.
“It’ll all be over by morning.”
“Think they’ll go for it?”
“Of course, unless they’re stupid.” The guard laughed. “Then again, they are Apenthans.”
The other guard chortled. Metal raked against metal. “Ready to meet Hypogaia, Prince? You ’ave a one-stop journey to the Underworld at the sun’s light.”
“Won’t you talk to us?” Laughter shrieked down the stone walls. “Come, Markyn. Let’s get some grub.”
“I ’ope they ’ave somethin’ better than leek stew. I’m tired of leeks.”
“Me too.” Their voices faded along with their footsteps.
“Cloaked in shadows,” Magna chanted. Darkness swirled around her until it hid her from sight. She crept to the only occupied cell and listened out for other guards until she was certain they were alone.
The lanky boy huddled in a corner of the tiny prison. The shackles around his wrists interlocked with a latch in the wall, and an odor of damp hay permeated the room.
Magna tiptoed from the cell to a water spigot. Someone had to clean the cells every so often, and she shuddered at the thoughts of having to do such a task. A bucket sat under the spigot, and she filled it with water and grabbed a cloth. She touched the lock with magic. The door creaked open. Did anyone hear her? The young man peered toward her direction, but she didn’t speak a word until the metal door closed behind her.
“Hello.” The darkness from her shadow spell fled off her like water. “Prince Cyrun?”
“Who are you?” His voice was as dry as dust. His lower lip cracked open, and blood pooled in the corner. She squirmed under his steady gaze.
“I’m Princess Magna.” The water sloshed when she dipped the cloth into it. “Are you thirsty? I can summon some drinking water.”
He flinched when she pressed the damp fabric against his head wound. His wrists pulled at the chains, as if testing their strength. “Why are you here?”
“Hold still.” She ignored his question. Her mother would punish her if she knew she’d seen him, but she had to speak with him, discover if she could win peace for both their kingdoms. She summoned clean drinking water and held the metal cup to his parched lips. “Have a sip. I promise it’s not poisoned.”
Cyrun hesitated. His smoldering gaze brought heat to her cheeks, and she was glad when he glanced into the cup. He sipped the water. “Why would you poison a condemned man? It makes no sense.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way.” Magna cleaned off the drying blood. “War never should have come between our two kingdoms.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“You have the eyes of our Phoenix-Queen Amora, founder of our kingdom. Only a Royal could have such purple eyes.” She trailed her fingertips along his eyebrow.
“Purple eyes are unusual but not uncommon.” He scooted until his back pressed against the wall. “I wouldn’t be a prince, if I wasn’t a Royal.”
/>
He had a point, but all Royals were descended from Amora and Apenth.
“Amora and Apentha are twin cities. Moran, Amora and the god Apenth’s son, named Apentha after his sister.” Her own brother had been named after Amora’s famous first son. She shifted closer. Cyrun’s soft breath brushed against her lips. She hadn’t been quite this close to another man before. “We are family, cousins, if you will. We should embrace each other, not fight.”
The restraints clinked by her ear. His lower lip quivered and gaze softened, as if he wanted to accept her friendship. Was she getting through to him? Although she had little power over her mother’s plans, she believed Cyrun and she could stop this war.
“You are a fool.” He kicked the bucket. Water splashed against her and coated the previously dampened hay. She scurried away from him as he looked at his bindings. “You cling to old legends. By dawn, the Kingdom of Amora will belong to Apentha.”
How did he dare to say such a thing! She clenched her jaw so tightly it popped. From her grasp on the cloth, liquid dripped between her fingers and onto the dirty wet floor. She tossed the bloody rag down. “I am the fool? I’m not the one who is going to lose my pretty little head in the morning.”
His defiance wounded her pride. How could she get through the insufferable and arrogant boy? She had been so certain he would see her side of the situation. Did he not care if her mother killed him?
“It doesn’t have to be like this. I want a peaceful end to this war. We are family, whether you believe it or not, and not all that different.” She spun toward the door of his prison cell. Her dress and cloak swished around her ankles. With a flourish, she lifted the hood over her head and disappeared into the dungeons’ shadows.
The erratic ringing of bells woke Magna from her slumber.
“Fava, what’s going on?” She could barely hear her own voice over the shrill alarm. “Fava?”
Magna pushed aside the thick curtains canopied around her bed. The warning grew louder, more insistent. The cool marble floor caused her to suck in air when her bare feet touched it. She found her leather bedside sandals and slipped them on.
Magna's Plea (The Fate Challenges) Page 1